Dream Thing

“We came to our agreement weeks ago,” Smith explained. “It became clear that Ms. Slate was fully knowledgeable of the existence of our organization and the identity of Master Chiun and yourself, Remo. Also, she seemed determined to remain with Mark.”

“She is?” Mark asked.

“As far as I can tell,” Smith said offhandedly. “She had also become honored in the eyes of Master Chiun, and that sealed her fate. She could not be assassinated so I was forced to hire her.”

Remo said, “God, Smitty, you can be so sweet …”

“So,” Smith interjected loudly, “I discussed it with Ms. Slate and we came to an agreement. She was not certain of her long-term intentions. I extended the offer of employment. By coming here today, she accepts my terms. She has previously given her oath to maintain the anonymity of CURE.”

“CURE?” Sarah said.

Smith nodded. “CURE.”

“Stands for?”

“Nothing. Ms. Slate is now executive assistant to the assistant director of CURE and Folcroft Sanitarium.”

“Welcome, Sarah,” Chiun said graciously, apparently entirely without surprise.

“You’re Howie’s secretary?” Remo asked. “Aren’t you worth millions?”

“I didn’t take the job for the salary, Remo,” Sarah explained.

“She’ll obviously be more involved in the CURE operations than my own secretary has ever been,” Dr. Smith said. “She knows the risks of being associated with this organization. I have not glossed over the fate of past CURE associates. And that supposes that we have a chance of surviving the dangers the planet faces now. I hope you have something positive to tell me?”

“Perhaps,” Chiun said. “Hush. Please speak, Sarah.”

Sarah reported again the words of the sleeping parrot, and wrote, rather than said aloud, the name the parrot spoke. Chiun explained the possible interpretation.

“Mark?” Dr. Smith asked. Mark Howard had paid little attention to the momentous events of the past few minutes. He was behind his desk pounding out commands.

“Not much on the name that Chiun hasn’t told us already,” Mark reported.

“The facts are slim and circumstantial,” Dr. Smith decided aloud. “The bird might be from Brazil but just as likely is a pet bred in North America. The deity in question might be an interpretation of the Sa Mangsang myth or not. The suggestion the bird provides is improbable.”

“We must heed it, nevertheless, if a way can be found,” Chiun said.

“The problem is how,” Remo said. “Nobody can get near the vortex where you-know-who is, let alone move in an operation big enough to plug its feeding tube.”

Chiun glowered.

“Maybe we can poison the squid.” Remo mused. “Kill off the food supply.”

“An environmental catastrophe,” Smith countered.

“So’s Armageddon.”

“There’s no way,” Mark Howard replied. “There’s not enough toxin on the planet to kill all the squid in the ocean.”

“What about a genetically engineered, species-specific antibody?” Sarah Slate offered. “These do exist.”

Smith nodded. “Some do, but they’re infamously imprecise.” He punched out the commands. “Of those in existence, none target squid or cephalopods in general. Regardless, deploying the toxin would take weeks—and we don’t have weeks.”

Remo sighed. “Maybe he’ll run out of squid.”

Mark shook his head. “Cephalopods are thriving like never before. The fishing industry is removing squids’ competition for food sources. The oceans are warmer because of climate change and that’s making conditions better for squid, as well. They’re growing faster than ever because of optimized conditions.”

“Ideal for Sa, uh, you-know-who.”

“The biomass of cephalopods has eclipsed that of humans,” Mark Howard added. “That’s not counting the unknown population of the giant and colossal squid, about which very little is known.”

“The biomass of humans?” Remo asked. “All the squid in one hand, all the people in the other?”

“The squid hand outweighs the human hand,” Smith concluded. “If there is a creature that thrives on the cephalopods, it must be gorging consistently.”

“Squid live fast and grow in a hurry. Here’s a researcher quoted saying that a single-degree increase in water temperature will cause exponential increases in the growth of the young cephalopod.” Mark Howard looked up. “If you-know-who has a metabolism like that, and feeds like we think he’s feeding in equatorial water, the results would be obvious.”

“Yeah,” said Remo. “I guess so. Smitty, you and I both wanted to know how he could grow so big so fast. Now we know.”

“Yes,” Smith replied. He was still unconvinced that a mad, boneless sea creature was the cause of the problems.

“But what about the second part of the message,” Sarah said. “‘The more minds it consumes, the more powerful becomes its mind.’”

Mark Howard chewed his lower lip. Dr. Smith looked sour. Chiun was silent.

Remo wished somebody would say something.